


Virgin

by EvilEd



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, First Time, Long drives, M/M, again not explicit, not explicit, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilEd/pseuds/EvilEd
Summary: Just a little gift for ScumbagAnarchy to celebrate their TOTALLY ANARCHIC final marks!! We're all so bloody proud of you, you absolute legend! A's in Sociology, Politics and History?? Rick'd do his nut!!Anyway, Rick and Vyvyan are frustrated with their current living arrangements, and decide to take a little drive to fix their "virginity problem". Set after Summer Holiday, and the new sharehouse the four boys are living in is the one showcased in the book Bachelor Boys, which ScumbagAnarchy and I once talked about being different from the two sharehouses featured in the show (proving the idea that the boys survived the bus crash, so take that, fascists!)
Relationships: Vyvyan Basterd/Rick (Young Ones)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Virgin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scumbaganarchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scumbaganarchy/gifts).



Somewhere overhead, thunder cracked.

Rick jumped out of his seat at the sudden intrusion, not entirely unconvinced that the dull, echoing thud was part of Vyvyan’s bizarre driving mixtape, then quickly recovered his composure and continued to gaze out the window. Although he didn’t look at the punk to check, he knew Vyvyan had snickered at his girly behaviour. Bastard.

They’d been driving for over half an hour now, caught somewhere along the M1, though where _exactly_ was, at least for Rick, impossible to ascertain. He estimated it to be somewhere past or very near to midnight, but somehow hadn’t thought to ask Vyv the time. His stomach was a hard, tight knot of anticipation that had lodged itself somewhere in his ribcage, which was just as well since his pounding heart seemed to have taken up residence in the hollow of his throat. It was an erratic, violent kind of excitement. So persistent and unbearable he was a bit worried he might either spontaneously combust or be violently, copiously ill, and as he drummed his fingers on the passenger side door, they took on an offbeat, irregular tremor.

If Vyvyan was even half as nervous or excited as Rick was, he didn’t show it. He kept his eyes on the road, squinting to try and see through the downpour, occasionally humming or singing under his breath, which did little to ease the butterflies in Rick’s stomach. It was an absolute bloody _mess_ of a storm they were having, but the Anglia fought valiantly. Its wipers (well…the one Vyvyan hadn’t torn off and beaten Neil with, anyway) worked triple time to try and keep the windscreen clear, and the tires occasionally slipped and slid against the wet roads. Still, Rick found that he rather _liked_ driving at night. Driving at night during a storm especially. There was something eerily beautiful about it; the way the street lights reflected and shimmered on the asphalt, the stars overhead, and the lights on the horizon. The distinctive decrease in traffic giving the road an eerie, desolate quality. It made him feel as if it was only him and Vyv left in the world – that perhaps Armageddon had occurred between here and the sharehouse and spared only them from its onslaught. It was a macabre, yet strangely desirable thought. After all, lately it felt as if it were him and Vyv _against_ the rest of the world. It would have been nice to eliminate everyone else from the equation.

The radio seemed to crackle with every flash of lightning – to jump and skip at every clap of thunder. Vyv had finally managed to gather up enough cash to fix his cassette player, a task which had dropped monumentally low on his list of priorities following the radiator’s destruction, and Rick had been taking advantage of it ever since. Of the tapes stashed in the glovebox (there were about thirty, total) roughly two-thirds of them belonged to the People’s Poet. Cliff Richard, mostly. A bit of Dexys, Madness, Echo and Oingo. But tonight had been Vyvyan’s choice – Vyvyan’s insistence, because it was a long drive and it was _his bloody car_ and if he wanted to listen to his driving mixtape he bloody well would. And Rick had been expecting metal. Honestly, metal might have been preferable to what he received, rather than this bizarre accumulation of Rush and Peter Gabriel, of Genesis and Led Zeppelin. It was the sort of thing he expected from _Neil_ , for Cliff’s sake. Not his angry, punked-up boyfriend. And yet…and yet Vyvyan knew every word. Every chord, every drum fill, every blimmin’ piano solo. It just didn’t make any _sense_. And although Rick had to admit it certainly fitted the ambiance, suited the tone of the evening, he still made a mental note to ask Vyv about it when tensions weren’t running so high. For now, he was content to stay silent, to try and regulate his breathing to the tune of Derek and the Dominoes. To sneak glances at Vyvyan and try not to look to lovesick when he noticed how pretty the punk looked under the faded glow of the street lights.

He wondered how much longer they’d stay on the M1. Just how far they intended to drive for the sake of a bit of privacy. For the sake of a decent attempt at a shag.

But although he was aware that this situation could be considered by some to be a touch ridiculous – driving for hours just to find somewhere quiet in order to (hopefully) kick their virginities to the curb once and for all – he could hardly blame them. Lord knew that these days, privacy at the share house was a blimmin’ impossibility. Because it wasn’t a _house_ anymore, was it? Not now that Balowski had turned them out on the street, and certainly not on their complete lack of grant money. A fourth-floor, one-bedroom flat was the best they could expect to come by, and truthfully he supposed they were lucky to have even that. But kipping in the drawing-room/kitchen/hallway with Neil passed out between them hardly equated to a romantic setting, and sneaking into Mike’s bedroom always ran the risk of getting caught, and Rick _knew_ they should be grateful they weren’t still bloody sleeping on the street but _Cliff_ , it was hard to be appreciative when Vyvyan looked so blimmin’ gorgeous. When they could barely sneak a snog without someone almost catching them out. When the communal bathroom they shared with three other flats no longer had a lock on the door.

They usually managed a bit of a feel up after Neil went to bed, conducted in paranoid silence with one eye always firmly locked on the stupid, sleeping hippie. But within the walls of the flat, it couldn’t possibly go any further. Vyvyan’s car was fast becoming some sort of safe haven, where the pretense of fighting, arguing, and hating each other could be safely discarded. At least they could _talk_ there. Hold hands, tease each other, have passionate lover’s quarrels and rapidly resolve them with equally passionate declarations of their undying love. But they still couldn’t _snog_. Still couldn’t shag. Arguably, it was more dangerous on the street than at home. Neil and Mike might disapprove, might even kick them out, but they weren’t about to try and hurt them. Call them names or berate them just for being poofs. And as far as Rick was concerned, Vyvyan’s insistence that he could _easily_ defend both of them from any violent prejudice, it wasn’t a risk worth taking. Especially not in their new, rundown, anarchically working-class neighbourhood, which was so overpopulated with skins, chavs and punks of a far less _liberal_ sort that Rick barely felt safe crossing the blimmin’ street, let alone having it off with some bloke in a car.

Consequently, it was during that night’s silent snogging session that Vyv, running hot and on a dangerously short fuse as _always_ , had taken things a smidge too far and got them both in a right state. There were hickies and bitemarks across both their necks, sweat on their backs and spit on their mouths, and they _knew_ they couldn’t possibly stop. Not when it was this bloody good. They’d been patient, for fuck’s sake. They’d been unbelievably patient, discreet and well behaved for the better (or worse) part of two months. Enough was enough, and so it was with a frustrated growl that Vyvyan grabbed his keys, grabbed Rick and marched out to the Anglia.

_‘Where are we going?!’_

_‘Dunno.’_

_‘It’s late!’_

_‘Yeah, I know.’_

_‘So what are we doing?!’_

_‘Going for a shag. Now get in the fucking car before I bend you over the bonnet.’_

And here they were. Driving…somewhere. Going for a shag, apparently. Going in silence, apart from the radio and the rain and the thunder. When Vyv didn’t need to change gears, his fingers intertwined with Rick’s and rested on the poet’s thigh, warm and comforting against the rain. Rick _wanted_ to say something. _Anything_ that might break the unbearable tension that hard formed between them, but his mind was uncharacteristically blank. There was paper in the glove compartment, buried under the cassettes. He would have written it all out in a poem if he only had the words.

“…Um…” Rick offered.

“Um?” Vyv mimicked, a playful smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He had a new pimple there, right by his lip. Well, a small cluster of them really. Rick never knew pimples could somehow look oddly attractive. On Vyvyan, they did.

“…Um.” Rick said again.

“Um.” Vyv agreed, “Wise words from the people’s poet. Look out Oscar Wilde, we’ve got a bloody prodigy on our hands.”

“Oh, piss off.” Rick replied, but there was no malice in it, “Look, where are we _going_?”

“I told you, I dunno. If I see somewhere secluded I’ll pull up. If we’re lucky we might find a camp site or something. Maybe a reserve.”

“And then what?” Rick ventured. His voice had taken on a high, off kilter tone that made him sound uncomfortably childish, at least to his own ears.

“Whatever you want.” Vyv replied, “But it’d be nice to be able to snog my boyfriend without worrying about being spotted by a stupid bloody hippie.”

“…What about…are we going to…you know?” Rick shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and his grip on the punk’s hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Erm…well. I’d…I’d like to. If you…if you want.”

“Yes.” Rick blurted, and then immediately regretted it. He probably sounded far too eager. To desperate, needy. But the grin that broke out across Vyvyan’s face calmed his nerves somewhat.

“Brilliant.” 

There was no reserve. No camp site or car park away from prying eyes. But there _was_ a rather secluded strip of park land, something a bit out of the way. If they parked, it would look like they broke down. People would keep driving, pay it no mind. It was risky, yes. Very risky. But they both knew they might not get another chance, at least not any time soon. Vyv pulled over.

“Right.” He mumbled. His voice had lost its harsh, jagged quality and sounded considerably softer than what Rick was accustomed to. He sounded…vulnerable. Nervous. Rick cleared his throat, squeezed the punk’s hand in the hopes that it would provide some comfort.

“…Erm…Vyvyan, are we…are we _actually_ going to do it in the car?”

“Unless you wanna do it on the bonnet. But I think it might be easier to spot that from the road.”

“But…but won’t the seats get awfully sticky?”

“Not if we’re careful.” Vyv replied. He climbed over the driver’s seat with considerable grace and skill to land comfortably in the back of the car, then grabbed Rick’s arm and pulled him through.

“Oh.” Rick replied. He was more than a little distracted by the uncomfortable squeeze through the gap between the driver and passenger seats. And then when he landed beside Vyvyan, he was distracted by the feel of rough stubble and teeth against his neck, of arms wrapped tightly around his middle, and of the noticeable bulge in the punk’s trousers to match his own.

“…Will we? B-be careful?” Rick asked, not out of concern, but out of a strong desire to begin tearing Vyvyan’s clothes off with his teeth.

“I reckon we’d better be.” Vyvyan grinned, his breath hot against Rick’s ear, _“Virgin.”_


End file.
